


The Weight of a Soul

by Ash_Rabbit



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Madoka Magica Fusion, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen, monarchshipping if you squint I guess??, season 0 esque, tags added with updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 10:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23849998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash_Rabbit/pseuds/Ash_Rabbit
Summary: “Atem Muran, do you value the life you have now?” Mutou’s voice is flat and they’re not looking at him. “Do you consider your friends and family precious?”“I- yes. But, wh-”“Do not solve the Millennium Puzzle, it will bring nothing but pain and misfortune onto you.”“How do y-”“It doesn’t matter. Just remember what you have, and treasure it.”
Relationships: Atem & Yami Yuugi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

He’s running through labyrinthine halls, slick shadows coat the walls, nearly tangible in the way they seem to ooze from the old stone. The air is oppressive and he can’t find the ex- A normal door, baby blue with a simple brass knob. He approaches, ascending precarious steps and with a trembling hand, pushes it open.

He crosses the boundary, stepping onto dark gold panes; the world is bathed in swirling violet hues, chunks of rubble hover suspended in time and a thick miasma presses against his lungs, weighing down his very being with every breath. 

He steps back with leaden limbs. The tomblike maze of before was at least familiar, but the door is gone, and there is nothing but geometric planes of gold. It breaks the numbing spell on his limbs, and he eases himself to where the gold ends and doesn’t know what’s worse. 

On the horizon looms an enormous obsidian demon. A draconic head snakes from it’s pelvis, the sinuous neck ringed in spiked plates that mimic armor. The draconic head gives a piercing screech that shatters whatever glass remains.

Below is a massive gap that sends his head spinning. However, despite the distance he can spot a running figure. It’s oddly familiar. Like looking into a desaturated mirror, wild blond bangs frame a pale face, and dark messy hair pokes out from a witchy red and black hat that matches their dark robes. To his horror they’re racing towards the looming demon, with only a staff in hand. The demon launches dark fire at them and he can only hold his breath as he prays for their safety.

“Why did this-” His mouth feels full of cotton and his words run dry as he can only watch as his doppleganger fails to make a scratch with their explosions. Red and black flares as they twist away from the orange bursts of flame, and he can breathe again.

“It’s too much for one person.” A childish voice says and he whips his head to see a familiar brown puffball perch on a chunk of rubble. Purple irises look at him, the lack of pupil deadens the gaze to the point that it’s like staring at a stuffed animal. “But he knew that, and came here anyways.” 

He watches as his other is flung into a building and the demon grips the fallen top of a skyscraper carrying a worn dragon logo and launches it at his doppleganger.

“This isn’t right. They- They can’t do this alone.” He moves to do something, but he’s stuck. His pale twin pulls themselves from the rubble and they make eye contact. Their eyes shine like fluorite as they widen, their expressions pinches and they scream.

“If they give up, it’s over.” The furball coos, and he realises that it’s a Kuriboh. “But, you have the power to change this destiny.”

He swallows past the knot in his chest and the bubble of laughter that tries to force itself out.

“All this tragedy, all this destruction. You can change it, if you want. The power to do so lies within you.” Green limbs tipped in yellow claws don’t so much as twitch as another explosion sends wind gusting past, he tugs his blue jacket closed as the breeze cuts through the cheap cotton of his uniform.

“Me, change this?” He croaks, impossible. “How can someone like me- Can I really change how this ends?”

“Of course you can, just make a contract with me and become a duelist!” It leaps into the air at it’s exclamation, the world dims and goes quiet.

It was a dream. Of course it was.

He stumbles to the bathroom and gets ready for the day. His brother is already there in all his beanstalk glory, working a brush through damp chestnut hair.

“Oh, Atem, you’re up early.” 

“Mm, had a weird dream.” He rubs at his sleep crusted eyes and swats away their hand as he’s chastised. 

“Don’t do that. Do you want to talk about it?” A damp lukewarm cloth is pressed into his hands, and he groggily rolls his eyes as he scrubs the sleep from his face.

“I’m fine Mahad. I’ve probably just been playing too much Duel Monsters lately.” 

“It’s okay to be afraid of starting at a new school.” Mahad smiles, pressing Atem’s glasses into his hand. He nods his thanks and slides the black frames on, the world coming into focus. Ah, he needed to touch up his tips, the red had faded into a pinkish colour.

“It never gets easier.” Atem mumbles, attempting to tame his hair into something vaguely tidy. He frowns at a particularly nasty snare, and tugs harder.

“I know, but father can’t help that being an ambassador means moving around.” Mahad pauses and frowns, before tugging the brush out of his hands. “You’re going to lose all your hair if you do that.” 

Atem tries to hide his smile by brushing his teeth.

“You’re such a kid sometimes.” Mahad sighs as he gently detangles the mess Atem calls hair. “You and Mana are growing up so fast I feel like an old man.”

“You are an old man.” Atem snickers. “You read the newspaper and refuse to get a cellphone.”

“I have a cellphone, and there’s nothing wrong with reading the paper.” Mahad baps him gently with the brush.

“That brick isn’t a cellphone. You can’t play games on it or anything.” 

“It has  _ Brick-Break _ which you would know, since you like to beat my high scores, all the time.” He rolls his eyes as Mahad pulls his hair back into a sleek ponytail. They both know that no elastic can hold his hair for long.

“Real games. Like, I dunno puzzles or sudoku or an rpg. And leave some of my bangs out, I look weird without them.” He scowls at his reflection, ruby eyes looking enormous behind his lenses.

“Speaking of, how’s the Millennium Puzzle coming along?” 

“I finally finished one side! It was the base but I think it’ll be something like a pyramid, which should help me finish it faster.” 

“I’m surprised you’re still at it, it’s been how many years already?”

“Only seven! And it promises a wish, how could I say no to that?”

“I don’t think dark power and wisdom was meant to be translated that way.” Mahad huffs. “Tell you what, you finish it by the end of the school year and I’ll buy you any Duel Monster figure you want.”

“You’re going to regret this Maha, I’m picking the newest Osiris model!” 

Mahad gives a wry smile. “I regret it already. Anyways, we should get started on breakfast before Mana burns the house down.” 

“Bold of you to assume she’s up.” Atem grins.

“Then go wake her. Or else she’ll cry about being late on the first day.” Mahad gently pushes Atem towards Mana’s room.

He knocks, not expecting a reply. After a few seconds he steps into her room and sees the dented alarm has already been slapped. “Mana wake up.” A grunt greets him and she pulls her covers higher, covering unruly blonde. Mana’s feet peek out from under her covers and a wicked grin splits his face. 

Atem backtracks to the bathroom, sets the tap to its coldest setting, and runs his hands under the icy water. When he can’t feel his fingertips anymore he slips back into Mana’s room and wraps his hands around her ankles. She shrieks, feet kicking at him and Atem cackles as Mana starts hurling various pillows and stuffies at his head.

“You’re the worst, at least Mahad just steals my covers.” Mana wails as she repeatedly beats her pillow against his head. 

“If you woke up when your alarm went off we wouldn’t have to do this every day.” Atem snickers as Mana finally tires. He goes to push his bangs back and feels a lack of tension, the tie has been lost. “Aww Mana, you messed up my hair.” 

“Like it needed my help.” She huffs, pushing him out of her room. “Let Maha know I’ll be down in a bit.”

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t fall back asleep.” He waves with an impish grin as she slams the door in his face.

He hops down the steps and is greeted by Mahad’s patented look of exasperation #3, the ‘Oh Ra, I can’t believe I’m related to you two look.’

“Shush you, you told me to wake her up, and I did.” He baps the egg that sits on his rice and wets his lips as steamy yellow goo coats yesterday’s grains.

“You probably woke the whole neighbourhood too.”

“S’not my fault” He says around a spoonful of breakfast. The sound of heavy footsteps on the staircase is the only warning they get.

“Maha! ‘Tem’s mean!” Mana whines, hurtling herself towards the young adult. He casts a tired look towards Atem who tries to hide his grin as he shovels more food into his mouth.

“Play nice children.”

“I’m not a child, I’m a teenager!” Mana pouts. “Besides you’re still a teenager too, mister university student.”

“You’re a middle schooler Mana.” Atem snorts. “Thirteen is only a teenager by technicality.”

“I’m more mature than you.” She huffs, sticking out her tongue.

“I guess if you’re that mature, you don’t need me to make you breakfast anymore.” Mahad says, glasz eyes twinkling.

“No! I’ll always need you Maha.” The white cotton in Mana’s hands bunches further.

“Thanks for breakfast. I think I’ll head out early and figure out where everything in the school is.” Atem says as he clears off his plate.

“Try to make some friends.” Mahad calls as Atem slips out the door.

* * *

Domino High School, an older brick building that looks somewhat out of place when compared to the many skyscrapers that line the streets. The schoolyard was quiet, but that was to be expected, he was after all, a half-hour early. 

Thankfully it isn’t too much of a hassle to find the office, and he picks his schedule up with ease. He decides to work backwards to find each class but first, his locker. The M’s put him on the second of three floors. After a brief trek he finds his locker, it’ll be easy to find in the future. If only because its neighbour has faded graffiti permanently etched into the pale green, and a series of protrusions. He thumbs the faded letters, ‘freak’. It really could mean anything, or nothing. If anything he’ll try to befriend his neighbour, he can’t find it in himself to talk to bullies and bystanders.

A hand clamps on his shoulder, and he freezes. “Ay, Mutou, I just wanted ta- You’re not Mutou.” It’s a scruffy blond, his uniform is heavily wrinkled, but it’s only been a week of classes, his hands are wrapped in thick bandages. Never a good sign. 

“Ah, no. I’m sorry. It’s Muran, Atem Muran.” He wonders how anyone could confuse the back of his head for someone else. 

“I don’t- Look, you might want to think about getting a different haircut kid.” The blond exhales and runs a hand through already messy hair. “An’ if you see Mutou, just let him know Joey Wheeler wants to talk to him.” They slouch away, feet dragging. 

“What are the odds.” He murmurs, shutting his locker. He’s not particularly sure if he wants to pass along Wheeler’s message, he would hate to be part of some cruel ploy. But, there was something remorseful about the way the delinquent held himself; slouching instead of sauntering, and a warning.

He takes note of all his class locations and settles outside of his morning class, popping in his ear buds. Time is marked only by the trickle, then the flood of students making their way through the halls. It’s only the ringing of the bell that gets him to look up. 

Atem wonders if Mutou is the reason all the students stand at a metres distance from him. The whispers and pointing aren’t particularly new to him, but the fear is. It’s odd, nothing about Mutou’s locker gave an indication of a bully, in fact it gave the exact opposite impression. Wheeler loiters in his peripheral vision and he plays with the idea of approaching him, but no. That seems like a bad idea right now.

A woman with scarlet hair unlocks the door, face heavily made-up and eyes abyssal pits. Everyone files in and takes a seat, Atem lingers in the doorway and hesitantly makes his way to her desk.

“Excuse me miss, I’m uh, I’m Atem Muran, the new student. I was wondering if-”

She cuts him off, crimson lips pulled into an ugly sneer. “Take a seat next to Mutou, his hair breaks as many regulations as yours.” 

Well, she’s wholly unpleasant. He scans the crowd for an equally unruly set of hair. But no, just two empty desks, side by side. At least there was that. He tries to walk semi-confidently to his desk, but his shoulders seem set on hunching under the weight of all their stares. He slides into the seat closer to the window and hunkers down.

“Mutou, you’re late.” The woman's voice snaps, and Atem’s gaze meets the searing magenta of the boy from his dreams. Murmurs of ‘Yami’ flood the room and it’s oddly fitting, darkness. Looking at Yami Mutou was like looking into a distorted mirror. Mutou’s nose was smaller, with a slight upturn, eye’s a touch larger, lips thinner. The boy from his dream.

“Since Muran is your seatmate, consider yourself responsible for him.”

Mutou only tips his head, before striding confidently to their shared space, golden ankhs glimmer at his jacket cuffs and he wonders if the other has an interest in his homeland. Atem steels himself for conversation, fingers tracing the more delicate ankhs that rest above his pulse point, but Mutou doesn’t even look at him. Just holds his pen in a white knuckled grip. It’s almost a relief, if only the air didn’t feel so tense. He wonders if he should tell Mutou that he’d already explored the building, but he’s curious, and no Muran turned down a mystery.

Their schedules are the same, but he chalked that up to administration wanting to dump him on someone else. Mutou doesn’t seem to be pleased by this, mouth tightening at the corners and eyes darting towards Atem when he thought the other wasn’t looking.

It’s at lunch that Mutou finally speaks to him.

“Atem Muran, do you value the life you have now?” Mutou’s voice is flat and they’re not looking at him. “Do you consider your friends and family precious?”

“I- yes. But, wh-” 

“Do not solve the Millennium Puzzle, it will bring nothing but pain and misfortune onto you.” 

“How do y-”

“It doesn’t matter. Just remember what you have, and treasure it.” Mutou turns to leave and Atem grabs their wrist. He can feel their pulse fluttering beneath his fingers, it’s faster than he expected from someone as collected as Mutou.

“Wheeler, he uh, he wants to talk to you about something.”

“Tell him I’m not interested.” Mutou says, syllables clipped as he yanks his wrist from Atem’s grasp and walks away.

With nothing better to do Atem looks for Wheeler, he checks the roof first. At his other schools, the rooftop always attracted outcasts or upperclassmen at lunch. Almost always to sneak a cigarette or roll a joint. 

His hunch is correct. Wheeler’s there, sitting next to a brunet with a pompadour and shaved sides.

“Hey um, I passed your message to Mutou but he uh- he said he wasn’t interested.” Atem squeaks out, pompadour looks annoyed, his expression verging on a promise of violence. 

“I don’t know why you’re bothering with Yami, so what if he cracked over break? It’s not like you’re the one who put the nail in the coffin. Besides, you got your wish. He’s a man now, isn’t he?”

“Shut up Tristan. I’m worried, is all, it’s like someone scooped out the old Mutou and a shadow took his place. Wouldn’t call that becoming a man, so much as becoming a demon. I’m not saying Ushio didn’t deserve it, but-” 

“You didn’t care last year when you pulled all that shit.”

Atem moved to leave, that was more than enough information to know that he wanted nothing to do with Wheeler, repentant or not.

“Hey Muran, you can eat lunch with us, you won’t be able to find a spot in the lunchroom.” Wheeler says, scrambling to his feet.

“Dude, you can’t just project your regret on-”

“Zip it, I meant what I said.” Wheeler hissed.

“It’s fine, this isn’t my first time at a new school. I wouldn’t want to impose.” He ignores Wheeler’s bluster and departs. Eventually, he finds an empty stairwell to spend his lunch in. It’s a little gloomy, grey cement walls and silence as his company, but it’s preferable to sitting alone in a crowd. Or with a delinquent who preys on those he’s perceived as weaker.

A pretty brunette dashes past him, her blue eyes light up. “Y- Muran, would you like to join my friends and I for lunch? It can be hellish finding a table but I have a friend who’s always able to snag one.”

Ah, another person mistaking him for Mutou. She seemed to have been closer to them, he wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of being a feel good project, but spending lunch alone for the rest of his time here was equally unappealing. He may as well try.

“Sure, ah, what’s your name?” He recognizes her from first period, but the teacher, Chono if he’s remembering correctly, didn’t do roll call.

“Anzu Mazaki, you can call me Anzu.” She smiles, bright and pretty, his ears burn. Maybe, this won’t be so bad.

Anzu’s friends are a lot. Miho Nosaka, a girl with long lavender hair had immediately started gushing over him when he mentioned his father’s job. A gold digger, and she didn’t even bother hiding it. Mai Valentine was calmer, in her last year and only there for first semester before graduating. Despite her confidence and sly smiles, there was a loneliness that dimmed her violet eyes. 

“Lay off Miho, Muran looks just about ready to run. I’m sure he’ll invite people once his family finishes settling in.” Mai laughs, and Atem flashes her a grateful smile. 

“I know, I know. But it’s exciting! We’ve never had the son of a diplomat, most of them settle in the capital you know?” 

“Ah, it’s really just so me and my sister can stay close to my brother. He’s in the Domino U Archaeology program, and we didn’t want him to go it alone. Besides, Domino itself is the heart of the technological revolution, and it’s known the world over for its rich gaming culture.” Miho is looking at him with a blank expression, Mai oozes amusement with a sly quirk of her brow

“Hey uh, Muran, what’re you into?” Anzu asks. Atem stops picking at his hands and meets her gaze. Insincerity isn’t present, even if the question is shoehorned in. He may as well answer honestly, maybe she’ll stop mistaking him for Mutou.

“Games mostly. My favourite is Duel Monsters, but I’ve had this puzzle I’ve been working on for a couple years. It’s tied to this really neat myth about a nameless pharaoh.” 

Anzu’s chopsticks clatter noisily against the table, her expression strained. He shrinks, that wasn’t what he wanted. To his horror she only looks more stricken as he curls in on himself. 

With trembling hands, Anzu pushes away from the table and excuses herself. Miho chases after, leaving him in the company of Mai. He looks up, meeting frosty violets and the temperature in the room plummets.

“So, who put you up to this?” Mai smiles, it’s as beautiful as it is deadly. She brushes pristine blonde behind her shoulder and leans across the table.

“I- noone, why would I?”

“It’s suspicious don’t you think?” Long purple talons rap out a menacing beat, his mouth goes dry and he regrets everything. “Mutou comes back a shadow, and a week later you show up. Same hair, same stature, even the same interests. You’re bait, and I want to know what Yami is up to.”

“What? I don’t?” He’s squeaking, and it only makes Mai grow colder in her fury. “Please-”

“You know what, I don’t care. Stay away from Anzu, and if you hurt her, well they don’t call me the Domino Harpy for nothing.”

Atem has never been so relieved to hear a bell ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Madoka fusion that noone asked for. It's been sitting in my docs since December and quarantine paired with exams has me digging through and polishing old story files. Hope everyone is safe and doing well in these godsforsaken times.  
> 100% softboi Atem from the anime's depiction of his childhood in S5. I think of Atem and Yami no Yuugi as two different characters for the most part; Atem as a more introverted Yuugi burdened with kingship, and Yami as a fundamentally good soul that's been warped by the puzzle and acts as a stereotypical depiction of an ancient king. A mix of english and japanese names since this Domino is in North America.  
> The ankh's at the cuffs are apparently an Egyptian cultural thing?? Didn't linger on it since there's only one source. A link to the post. vv If anyone has more details then that please enlighten me, other cultures traditions are fascinating.  
> https://romancinglogic.tumblr.com/post/616052838911639552/brawltogethernow-whetstonefires  
> Reviews and Constructive Criticisms are welcome. Updates will be spotty.  
> Sidenote, a less polished version has been crossposted, because sometimes you need to post something before the errors slap you in the face.  
> Posted April 26th 2020


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The buildings started to look like they belonged in a Seussian nightmare, out of proportion and a rainbow of clashing hues as they leaned crookedly. Atem shivers as the pink and green gremlins throw themselves out the windows, face planting into the pavement before peeling themselves off the ground, and wobbling away.

The rest of the week passes much the same. Mutou sits next to him in every class, but he may as well be beside a block of ice for all the warmth he exudes. Mai glares daggers whenever they cross paths, and Anzu doesn’t even glance at him as Miho whispers in her ear. The rest of the student body shies away from him at best and at worst they sneer and make threats, only for one of their nervous compatriots to glance around nervously and whisper “Yami.”

He’s half tempted to sit with Wheeler and his pompadour friend, but Mutou’s locker is a daily reminder of what Wheeler had likely done. Was he really so desperate as to seek out company like that, no. Not quite yet. The first few weeks were always lonely, but he could wait for clubs to open up, chess club was always a guarantee. Sure chatting was frowned upon there, but afterwards he could mingle a little. 

But Anzu’s reaction, Mutou was probably a gamer of some sort. Whether it was only the Duel Monsters mention that caused the flinch or Egypt, or games in general; affiliating with a strategy game club would likely cause students to draw more parallels between him and his dopple. 

He slumps in his seat and rests his head against the clammy laminate. His father would lecture him for such slovenly behaviour if he could see it, but what did it matter? He rubs at his burning eyes and exhales tiredly, watching his breath fog the table.

Domino High is so very cold.

As soon as class ends he dumps everything into his bag and leaves as calmly as possible. Nothing good can come from running out, even if his reputation was already shot to hell.

Once he leaves the school he gradually picks up the pace, speed walk slipping into a jog as he passes Kaiba Corp, and shifting into a sprint when he sees the local game shop.

The house is thankfully empty when he gets in, Mana will finish in an hour and Mahad was probably burying himself in the Domino U library. That gave him time to slap together a vague, yet semi-detailed story about his day. Mahad was tricky like that, always able to sniff out when something was wrong. It was great in theory, but annoying in practice. He was always so worried about his and Mana’s well-being, that he can’t even remember the last time Mahad went out with people his age. Telling him about something so petty and temporary was pointless.

He thinks about the puzzle, fiddling with it always made the world fall away, and with it the weight in his chest. Atem goes to his desk and eyes the neatly spread pieces, he picks up the one with the eye of Wadjet and runs his thumb over the familiar lines. Seven years, eight in the coming spring, and he still hasn’t managed to make much progress. 

He slides gold pieces mindlessly against each other, nothing clicks, and with a sigh he leans back and raises the finished piece to the light. He catches sight of his reflection, features rounded by the curve of it’s loop. He’s reminded of Mutou, and his warning. His stomach churns, and he sets the puzzle down. 

There’s not much else to do, homework was practically non-existent and was best saved for passing time at lunch, and he didn’t feel like waiting around the house. He could reorganize his Duel Monsters collection again, but he didn’t have any new cards and his current system was meticulous. 

He could buy new cards? Industrial Illusions had released a new booster pack recently, and most game shops had tables. And where there were tables, there were players milling about, and if he could befriend someone he wouldn’t have to edge around the unnerving atmosphere of Domino High. Not to mention, he could tell Mahad he made a friend, which would soothe his mamabear tendencies.

That settled it. Atem snaps his deckbox to his belt, shrugs on his school jacket, and makes his way back towards the shop from earlier.

‘Kame Games’, that was an interesting name. He enters, bell tinkling, and it’s quiet, a man shorter than him is stocking the shelves. He ambled towards the handful of wooden tables at the front of the shop, they were empty. He would’ve thought game shops would thrive in a city like Domino.

“I thought you were going out tod- Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were my grandson.” Atem turns and sees the man from earlier. Unruly grey juts out from under a tight bandanna, and neatly trimmed facial hair squares out soft asian features.

“No, sorry.” Atem mumbles. “I’m new in town, and I uh, saw your game shop.”

“You’re a duelist, aren’t you?” The old man trots back to the counter. “I was quite the duelist myself back in the day. Not as good as my grandson, but perhaps enough to greet a newcomer.” He pulls a deck out, the backings from the earliest days of the card game.

“I- You don’t have to, I’m sure you’re busy.” 

“Humour an old man.” The owner grins, waving off his concerns, and how could Atem say no to that.

They settle at a table, and Atem removes his deck from its holster. He offers it to the owner, and they exchange to shuffle. He can’t help but marvel at the sheen of the red and purple backings, the pure card feel. It was nowhere near as weighty as a current deck.

“My name is Sugoroku, but you can call me Solomon if it’s easier.” Sugoroku says, setting Atem’s cards onto the wood.

“Mine is Atem. Ah, would you prefer heads or tails?” He hands Sugoroku his deck, and slides his own closer. 

“Tails. That’s Egyptian isn’t it, the God of creation. I used to be an archaeologist before all this, the tales I could tell you.” Sugoroku says. Atem flips the coin.

“Tails, and don’t let me stop you.” They draw their hands, and Atem swallows a smile.

“Have you heard of the Millennium Items? Relics of legend, able to harness-”

“The powers of the Shadow Realm, yes. My grandfather was part of the recovery team.”

“You’re Siamun’s! I thought I recognized those eyes of yours.” Sugoroku beams, and Atem nods, eyeing the elders facedowns with suspicion. He summon’s a _‘Magician’s Rod’_ and searches for ‘ _Illusion Magic’_ setting it and a _‘Magician’s Navigation’_.

“Yes. He used to tell me the legend of the puzzle and it’s destined wielder.” 

“Did he tell you about the tomb we found it in? It was a work of art, a gamers dream.”

“He said that it was odd, for a tomb to have a family of guardians. One’s who would guide outsiders to it. And that the shadows were dense, almost cloying, but it always sounded like the weight of breaking a taboo.” Atem shrugs, his grandfather had gone into archaeology against the wishes of the family. He insisted that it was to ensure the souls of the dead weren’t disturbed by foreigners, but the gleam of the puzzle always said otherwise.

“He’s not wrong, the Ishtars were very accommodating. I’d always assumed it was Siamun, he was quite the diplomat.”

“That sounds like him.” Atem says. His phone buzzes. It’s about time to wrap this up.

“It was strange for another reason. The nameless pharaoh was said to have died young, and yet, his tomb was fully hewn in the Valley of Kings. It’s small, but the intricacies of it exceed what could be accomplished in their short reign, never mind the lack of sarcophagus.” Sugoroku says, sending his monster to attack. Atem hems and haws appropriately as he plays ‘ _Illusion Magic’_ to search for ‘ _Dark Magician’_ and chains ‘ _Magician’s Navigation’._ Summons two ‘ _Dark Magicians’_ and activates _‘Magician of Dark Illusion’s’_ effect, special summoning it to the field.

He draws his next card. It’s just what he needed. He plays ‘ _Dark Magical Circle’,_ adds _‘Eternal Soul’_ to his hand, sets it, and plays _‘Eye of Timaeus_ ’ to summon ‘ _Dark Cavalry’,_ allowing him to special summon his _‘Dark Magician’_ from the graveyard triggering his spell, banishing Sugoroku’s monster _._ He activates ‘ _Dark Magic Attack’_ to clear Sugoroku’s backline and attacks. 

“Oh ho, you play a clean game.” Sugoroku chortles as his life points sink to zero. “Do you play competitively?”

“No, I um, I’m sorry but I think I need to go.” Atem glances at his phone, Mana has blown up his texts. “My sister’s probably worried.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. We'll be hosting locals soon, I think you'd sweep it." Sugoroku stage whispers. "Rumour has it that Industrial Illusions will be hosting it's world tournament in a top-secret, invite only location." He straightens back up with a grandfatherly smile. "But, feel free to come back anytime now, you hear?” 

“Of course. Thank you for your hospitality.” Atem gives a shallow bow, that was a respectful gesture in Sugoroku's homeland, wasn't it? Sugoroku's gaze lingers on his uniform before smiling.

“You’re a student at Domino, aren’t you? My grandson, he’s a third year there, I think the two of you could be good friends. He’s a wonderful duelist.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for him.” Atem says.

He steps out of the shop and straight into a thin chest.

“Sorry.” He squeaks, noting Domino blue. He looks up and feels his stomach knot itself.

“What’re you doing here Muran?” Wheeler asks, eyes narrowed. 

“It- It’s a game shop. I thought I could make some friends.” Atem says, and cringes at how pathetic he sounds.

“Ya know Muran, let’s have us a friendly chat.” Wheeler drags him past winding streets and behind a run down arcade. His grip is tight and the bandages chafe against Atem’s wrist, the alley they step into is dingy, covered in trash and old graffiti. 

A quiet wheeze escapes Atem as Wheeler slams him into the brick.

“So, ya like games.” Wheeler growls, fingers wound tightly into his collar. 

“I- Yes, but I don’t-” 

“What’s Yami’s fucking game Muran?”

“Why do people keep asking me that?” Atems asks, trying and failing to pry Wheeler’s hand away from his shirt.

“Don’t play dumb you bastard, I caught you red-handed and you want to play me for a fool?” Wheeler says, malice setting amber eyes aglow.

“I don’t understand.” Atem gasps. 

Wheeler snarls and lifts him by his collar. His throat and lungs burn, he kicks out as the floaty sensation presses against his mind. Sparks of black and white flicker in and out of his vision as he paws weakly at the tightening grip. A choked cry escapes him as he’s slammed against the wall again. His head smacks against the brick with a crack, and he must be concussed. 

The alley is gone. Replaced by writhing shadow, violet miasma and the low hum of static.

“Hey Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” Atem mumbles, and Wheeler socks him in the stomach. 

“I ain’t a fucking dog.” Wheeler spits, he drops Atem who falls to the ground, and turns away. “The fuck is this?” 

Atem can’t answer, and settles for spitting out the taste of pennies instead. The purple mist is surprisingly cool, but hard to breathe. Squat figures cloaked in red hop around on golden points, he squints, cleans his dirtied lenses, then squints again. He’s seen that creature before.

“I’m asking you a question, so fess up or else.” Wheeler barks, storming towards him.

“How could I have planned this?” Atem spits, pulling his knees to his chest. He’s tempted to bury his face into his knees, but Wheeler might take that as an invitation to hit him again.

“Who else could it be?” 

“Maybe it was the person who dragged me to this godsforsaken alley.” Atem regrets the words immediately. Wheeler levels him with burning amber, bloody bandages tighten as he clenches his fist. Atem ghosts fingers over his aches, only coming away sticky where his head smashed against the wall. 

“Your hands.” Atem says, watching the creatures spin on their points, their mirror torsos flashing as they catch non-existent light. They stay their distance, but they seem closer than before.

He chokes as Wheeler's foot catches him in the side. Knocking him back to the ground. The mirror faced creatures titter, twitching hands glittering.

“I really thought you might’ve been okay.” Wheeler sneered, and Atem’s not sure if it’s his head wound or Wheeler, but this puzzle was not coming together, at all.

He moves to crawl away, chancing a glance at his phone. No signal. His heart sinks further then he thought possible, and he angrily blinks away the welling tears. It doesn’t work, his vision is blurring, nothing makes sense, and everyone hates him for reasons he doesn’t understand. Atem thumbs away the moisture and stumbles to his feet. 

He can only pick a random direction and hope it leads him back to civilization. He walks away from Wheeler and the spinning, top like creatures. He’d have to come up with a less embarrassing reason for wanting to transfer out, maybe he could go on a studying binge and test out of high school. Fast-track past this entire nightmare. Yeah, he could do that. Online courses and night school could be substituted if that fell through too. 

Atem’s shaken from his thoughts by an incessant tugging at his pant leg. It’s one of the creatures. He shakes the captive limb, and watches red fabric go flying. It disappears in a swirl of red the moment it hits the ground. 

A wheeze escapes him as he feels all the air in his lungs get forced out by the sensation of something hitting his back. Atem brushes his fingers against the impact zone, and winces at the almost sticky bruising. 

Reflect Bounder. An effect monster, it deals damage equal to that which it took.

Maybe there was something to his dream. 

Whatever, that was a problem for future Atem. There’s more tugging at his legs, more Reflect Bounders swarm around his feet, trying to push him back towards Wheeler.

He steps forward and almost crumples as he feels a phantom foot bash his shins. His brief moment of imbalance is more than enough for the duel monsters to drag him back to his starting point. Wheeler isn’t there, but a shimmering metal archway is.

If video games have taught him anything, it’s that one, this is the start of a quest chain. Two, he was grossly underleveled for the inevitable boss fight. And three, this was probably some screwed up rescue mission, and the only way forward was through the swarm of caped tops.

“I just want you to know that I hate you.” He informs the spinning mirror creatures, before he marches through the arch.

He frowns as violet bleeds into bent and twisted skyscrapers; short green helmeted creatures with slim antennae and binoculars for eyes chirp “Roba” over and over, pink limbs flailing as they wobble about.

The low hum of a generator keeps him company as he walks through the maze like streets, there was no rhyme or reason to the way the city was structured but Atem figured that the louder the humming was, the closer he was to where he needed to be.

The sound of loud cursing causes Atem to speed up, Wheeler may be openly hostile but there was something menacing about the way those Roba’s stumbled around, almost looking to get knocked into or bumped. He wasn’t looking forward to experiencing the consequences of such an incident.

His sides ache as he rushes down the pulsating violet sidewalk towards the one familiar thing in this godsforsaken labyrinth. The city seemed to twist in on itself even more as he rushed towards the center. Lamp posts were twisted in on themselves, blinking out messages in a prismatic morse code.The buildings started to look like they belonged in a Seussian nightmare, out of proportion and a rainbow of clashing hues as they leaned crookedly. Atem shivers as the pink and green gremlins throw themselves out the windows, face planting into the pavement before peeling themselves off the ground, and wobbling away.

A copper tang coats his mouth, whether it’s from exertion or residual injuries, Atem can’t be sure, but the air feels heavier than before and his lungs strain as he approaches the buzzing hub, and the plethora of colorful curses that are steadily growing louder. Everything was louder here, to a spine crawling degree. Atem rubbed his temples as the buzzing tugged at the softly throbbing ache in the back of his head.

“Wheeler!” Atem calls, his voice cracking as the whirling churs and murmurs of the Reflect Bounders and the presently dubbed Roba’s disappear. Never a good sign. Atem looks around, and squeaks as Wheeler comes charging towards him.

“Fuckin' move Muran!” Wheeler grabs his wrist and drags him.

“What?!” He gasps out, trying to glance at whatever Wheeler was running from.

“That ain’t right, s’not natural.” Wheeler huffed, somehow picking up even more speed. “I whacked that thing as hard as I could, and it broke the fucking bar!”

Atem finally spots it, pink and green and black, and absolutely horrifying. It glides towards them, robes fluttering, breath rasping mechanically behind its face mask. Pink fleshy brain pulsates in time with the throbbing static hum that further saturates the air. Lightning crackles around the humanoid figure, bouncing off the crooked street lights.

“Oh gods.” He whimpers. “That’s a Jinzo.” 

“Ya know what that freak is?” Wheeler growls, his grip tightening.

“It’s from Duel Monsters.” Atem hisses back. “Do you really think I could set all of this up?”

“I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you, just stop talking, and start runnin’ faster!”

Atem’s heart sinks as he sees what’s waiting for them up ahead, a blockade of Roba’s and Reflect Bounders. 

“We can’t hit those.” Atem shouts, wincing as the words echo too loudly, adding to the growing headache.

“The fuck you mean? Our way out is that way.” 

“We need to make a detour. Just trust me.”

“I ain’t risking getting zapped when our exits right over there.” Wheeler snarls, letting go of Atem’s wrist.

The blond charges the line, and Atem can’t help but chase after him as Wheeler bulldozes several Roba’s. The static crackle is deafening, rolling like thunder before a lightning strike, and Atem throws himself at Wheeler fueled by sheer adrenaline and instinct. Shoving the blond, Atem stumbles forward glancing back to see a spear of lightning lurching towards him,

“Ah.” He breathes, eyes fluttering shut as the world goes brighter.

A shadow passes in front of him and Atem opens his eyes to the sight of the back of a slim black robed figure with familiar spiky hair.

“You said you valued your life.” Mutou glares at him, deflecting the lightning with his staff. “How does jumping in front of a lightning strike qualify as valuing your life?”

“I couldn’t let it hit Wheeler.” Atem says, avoiding Mutou’s gaze, settling instead for staring at the Jinzo. Dark soulless eyes, and visible pulsating brain, somehow still preferable to Mutou's burning eyes.

“You’re a fool Atem Muran. Nobility of heart will only lead to ruin.”

“Is that a _Sennen Seven_ quote?” Atem asks, like an idiot. His eyes finally meeting Mutou’s, his face burns as Mutou gives him a deadpan stare. “I- never mind, just um, that’s a Jinzo.” Atem squeaks.

“I’m aware.” Mutou sighs, free hand flicking towards his belt, and snaking into a small pouch. From it he withdraws a card with familiar green borders. “Silent Burn-”

A thorn covered three prong whip slices through the Jinzo and Mai lands neatly behind the fallen viscera, short indigo cape fluttering elegantly down from gleaming shoulder pauldrons. Silver plates reminiscent of ‘ _Harpie Lady Armour’_ cover her magenta underdress. Oh, that explains the weird nickname.

“Guess you two aren’t in cahoots afterall.” Mai hums, bending down to dig through the bloody mess. 

“What the fuck is goin’ on here?!” Wheeler growls, and oh, Atem had forgotten about him for a second.

“They’re duelists.” A childish voice chimes, and oh look it’s the Kuriboh from his dream. Maybe he could drop out of school entirely and make a living off of being a psychic or fortune teller. 

“This doesn't resemble any form of Duel Monsters that I recognize.” Atem says, watching Mai pop upwards with a caw of victory, a card in hand.

“It’s the best form.” Mai grins, flashing her new bloody Jinzo card.

“Hardly.” Mutou scoffs. “It’s dangerous. I wouldn’t wish this life for my worst enemy.” 

“Sounds to me like you're afraid of a little competition.” Mai leers, coiling her whip with ease.

“I don’t have time for this, just clear the field, and I’ll be on my way.” Mutou says, turning away from Mai. 

“Tch, you’re cramping my style kid.” Mai says, pressing a kiss to the bloody card, before raising it upwards with a flourish. The world flickers, and they’re back to the graffiti coated alleyway. Atem clings to the clearest brick wall, if he’s lucky he can inch his way out unnoticed and hobble home.

Mutou turns to Atem, cold fluorite eyes narrowed. “Do not make a contract with that thing.” Mutou’s gaze settles pointedly on the hovering puffball. “You will find nothing but regret down that path.” 

“Wha-” Mutou has vanished, as if he was never here in the first place. He scratches the back of his head, and frowns as his fingers get stuck in a sticky tangle of bloodied hair. That was not good. He’d have to come up with an explanation for that. He winces, wrinkling his nose as the pain comes rolling in on slowly growing tides. 

“When’d the lil’ guy become such a drama queen?” Mai huffs, and with a wave of her hand, her armour was replaced by the pink and blue school uniform “Let me treat you two to some burgers, I’ll explain everything.” 

“Sure, why the fuck not.” Wheeler sighs, pushing back sweat matted bangs with a dirtily bandaged hand.

“What about you Muran?” Mai asks, tossing perfect waves over her shoulder with what has to be a practiced flick.

“I-” Atem pushes away from the wall and wobbles, knees giving out as the last of his adrenaline fades. Black spots his vision and he pats his leg in search of his phone. “My siblings-”

“Woah, hey there.” Mai rushes to catch him before he can fully crash into the trash covered ground. “Don’t panic, the dangers over, and I’ve got you. Me, Mai Valentine, Duelist extraordinaire.” 

“He’s got a head-” Wheeler cuts himself off, but Mai must understand as her hand eases over the back of his skull. He tries to flinch away, but his limbs are leaden.

“Fucking- Why didn’t you say anything earlier kid. How the fuck did you get a head wound?” Mai curses.

“Reflect Bounder.” Atem mumbles, trying to drag himself out of Mai’s grip. “S’fine”

“It’s not fine, look just- Wheeler, hold him for a sec.” She guides Atem backwards and his head spins, sharpening the pain to a stomach churning degree. Firm hands grip him gently. Gently? 

Through increasingly blurry vision, (was he still wearing his glasses?) he could see Mai digging through her deck pouch. A bottle full of a sloshing red liquid is pressed towards him. Atem turns away, catching a whiff of iron and sourness.

“M not a vampire.” Atem slurs, hands flopping uselessly as he attempts to bat the bottle away.

“It’s ‘ _Red Medicine’.”_ Mai says, and Atem’s cheeks are unceremoniously squished as bloody not blood is forced down his throat. “Now that, that’s taken care of, burgers.”

* * *

“So what was with that whole Whoville nightmare?” Wheeler asks, waving a ketchup coated fry. Atem picks at the peeling vinyl seats, and runs his hand across the back of his head, marvelling at the lack of blood. Only a faint tenderness remained.

“We call those Labyrinths, but they seem to be linked to the monster's theme, so it’s more like a field spell overlaying reality.” 

“What about those pink and green creatures? They don’t look like any Duel Monster I know.” Atem asks.

“That was probably a familiar linked to their focus. We don’t know a whole lot about monsters, but they tend to have a theme linked to their archetype and a familiar based in whatever their first victim treasured. Looked like Espa Roba got hit, kid was obsessed with protecting his younger brothers.” Mai sighs, swishing her drink. “His deck lined up pretty cleanly with the labyrinth too.”

“So those things eat people?” Wheeler asks.

“More like absorbs, bodies lost in labyrinths don’t reappear. You can see echoes of victims in those things too, lucky that it was just one this time.”

“I hit that brain guy with an iron bar, but it did nothing.” Wheeler says, fingers flexing under sloppy stained wraps.

“Doesn’t matter how good of a slugger you are, only a duelist's magic can hurt those things.” Mai says with a shake of her head. “Kuriboh here says you both have the potential.”

“Yes it’s true. If you make a wish I can make you duelists.” Kuriboh churrs, batting at a french fry.

“A wish? Any limits on that? Could it be for billions of dollars? Genius brains?” Wheeler asks, amber eyes practically glowing.

“Just one wish, and yes those are all easy enough.” Kuriboh tugs the fry until it splits. “Wishes are tied to potential, someone like Atem could wish for anything.”

“You’re joking.” Atem shakes his head. “I’m nothing special.”

“I’m just telling you how it is. You could be the greatest duelist ever seen.”

“Shush you, it’s not something to rush into. You only get one wish, so you better make it count. But just to be sure, how about you guys come out scouting with me and Kuriboh here? Get a good feel for the lifestyle and all that.” Mai looks hopeful, the brightest she has since he met her.

“Sure.” Atem says, leaning into the squeaky vinyl backing.

“Could be fun.” Wheeler shrugs, his gaze focused on something outside the dirty _Burger World_ window.

“Great, give me your numbers and we can meet up for my next patrol.”

* * *

Atem creases the newest fold in his napkin, his hands were still shaking and the dragon wouldn’t hold it’s form. He sighs and folds it into a simple frog, but the bounce is incredibly lackluster. Mai was paying for their orders and Wheeler was boring holes into his recently repaired skull.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Wheeler asks. Atem tries not to stiffen, but Wheeler’s tired exhale tells him that it was obvious,

“No point.” Atem says, debating how to explain it. “I don’t, schools-” He twists the napkin in his hands, pinching patches of tissue. “My time here is temporary.” 

Wheeler looks stricken, and Atem frowns, before- Oh.

“Not like that. My family moves a lot. Domino was never going to be permanent.” A lie, but Wheeler didn’t have to know that. “I’m not here to create problems.” Atem settles on. 

“You should.” Wheeler says, fist clattering against cheery yellow laminate. “Ya shouldn’t cover for me, I shouldn’t’ve taken it out on you.” His fists clench, and flecks of rust dust the already dirty table. “Makes me no better.” Wheeler croaks.

“Ah.” Atem mumbles, this was more awkward then he’d anticipated. “Look, um Wheeler-”

“Joey, call me Joey.” Wheel- Joey insists.

“Right, uh Joey, it’s done with and I’m over it, so um, don’t worry about it.”

“No, you saved my life when you had no reason to.” Whe- Joey says. “I owe you, and I’ve been a real piece of shit, so tell me how I can make it up ta ya.”

Was there anything he wanted from Joey? Everything about the blond radiated guilt, from the slump of his shoulders to the desperation lacing his voice. His phone vibrates, another text from Mana.

_Mana: These new frens of urs better b something!!!_

_Mana: Gimme deets!! Maha needs something!!_

Friends, ha that would be something. Unless.

“You want to make it up to me yeah?” Atem asks, mouth cotton dry. “Even if it was by doing something embarrassing?” 

“Yeah.” Joey says. “I want to make it up ta ya, and nothing’s more shameful than what I’ve already done.” 

“Then, I want you tobemyfriend!” Atem rushes out, head tipped down as his face burns.

“What’s embarrassing about that?” Joey asks, and Atem flinches as a hand claps down on his head, only for Joey to rustle his hair. “You’re a good guy Muran, better than most. It’d be my honour, to be friends with someone like you.” 


End file.
